Trial One: The Mirror of Truth

Latest chapter

• The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen   The Crown That Waited

  "Elara shattered the regalia not to destroy power, but to bury its need.Yet some things do not stay broken.And some symbols, like fire, wait quietly beneath stone until the world forgets why they were cast away."The winds that carried ash and whispers had not yet reached the granite-hollowed peaks of Mount Rithalor. Hidden within Eldoria’s eastern spine, the mountain had long been left unclaimed, too treacherous for farmers, too silent for poets. There was no curse on its slopes, only a hush that stilled birdsong and stifled memory, a hush so profound that grown men sometimes wandered up its winding paths and forgot the names they carried with them.Silence, as Eldoria was beginning to learn, had a voice. And that voice was stirring.It was the Flame Scholars of the Ash Circle who first disturbed the ancient peace. They followed the fever-dreams of Seren, the silver-eyed child who spoke in riddles as she slept: a spiral, a root, a crown drawn backwards in ash and gold.Follow the r

• The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen   Where Blades Meet Heart

  "When the wind remembers, it does not howl. It whispers.And when ash falls without fire, it is not death, it is memory come home.She was not a ghost. She was a voice on the breath between worlds."The forest was bleeding.Twilight dripped through the skeletal branches in fractured ribbons, dyeing the clearing in bruised purples and washed-out gold. The world seemed to hold its breath, suspended between day and night, between what had happened and what might yet come. Elara stood at the heart of it all, spine stiff, shoulders squared, breath sawing ragged in her chest. Her hand clenched the hilt of her dagger until her knuckles ached. The taste of metal lingered at the back of her throat, as if violence itself had climbed inside her.All around her, the ghosts of the ambush lingered. Arrows snapped and scattered across the ground like broken ribs. The forest floor was churned to mud and spattered with blood, both red and darker. Birds had fallen silent, and somewhere deeper in the wo

• The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen   The Dream walker’s Son

  "The dreamwalker spoke of futures Elara never dared to write.Now, his blood walks the world again, uninvited, but inevitable.For some, destinies do not return through fire.They Walk back in dreams."The dreamwalker had once spoken of futures Elara never dared to write.Now, his blood walked the world again, uninvited, but inevitable.For some destinies do not return through fire.They walk back in dreams.It began not with a warning, but with a vision.Not Seren’s.But Kael’s.Three nights after his return to the court, the dreams began to claw at him, silent at first, then growing louder, clearer, until they stole the breath from his sleeping lungs.He dreamt of silver rivers running backwards across ash-choked plains, of a lone tree shedding petals into a sky with no stars. He stood at the edge of something vast and empty, where time spiralled inward like a whirlpool, and at its center, a boy waited.Barefoot. Flame-kissed. Standing beneath a moonless sky, whispering a name Kael

• The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen   Kael’s Return to Court

  The court had forgotten the weight of his silence.But the moment Kael stepped through the gates, they remembered.Because some blades never dull. Some wolves never stop watching.And some loyalties, do not end with the queen.Sanctum had changed since Kael last crossed its outer walls.What once had the sharp, ordered beauty of stone and iron now shimmered with something softer, more fragile, a beauty won at great cost, but vulnerable as spun glass. The marble towers, their proud banners replaced by winding veils of star-bright ivy, reached toward a dawn that felt too gentle for all the blood they had witnessed. Iron gates, melted in the old peace accords, now shaped delicate sculptures: arms upraised, hands open, silent mouths yearning. They glistened under lanterns of bottled starlight, making the whole city seem to hold its breath.But beneath all that light, Kael could smell the fracture.Not the kind that split stone or toppled banners. The kind that whispered in council hallway

• The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen   The Shadow Bloom

  Some things do not return with noise.They take root in stillness, growing quietly in the corners of old wounds, blooming out of memory’s softest earth, refusing to be rushed. They are not portents carried by storm, nor omens scrawled in thunder. They are the world’s breath taken in, and finally, when the realm is ready, a gentle exhale.When the Shadow Bloom returned, the land did not erupt with fanfare. It simply, quietly, remembered.It began, as such things do, with small wonders overlooked.In Marrow Hollow, a river village marked more by its sorrows than its harvests, the night was thick with fog. Old men drank silently by guttering lanterns, and the children who still dared to play after dusk came home with blue-black petals tangled in their hair.The villagers noticed the first blooms in the muddy bends south of the mill. Tiny petals, midnight-stained and luminous as dew-washed obsidian, opening only after sunset. Their fragrance was nearly nothing, a soft hint of cedar, earth

• The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen   A Kingdom Without a Queen

  Without a crown to fear and a voice to follow, old instincts awaken.For a time, Elara’s shadow had been enough. Her memory shaped the tides of politics and war more surely than any law ever etched in silver or stone. She had left the world not in conquest, but in trust, a belief that the fire she planted would warm rather than consume. Yet trust, in Eldoria, had always been a gamble, and hope was thin gruel for the hungry.Now, peace, never perfect, began to fray.In the whisper-thick hours after dusk, rumours moved faster than wind. In the Crimson Heights, the vampires whispered in velvet-dark corridors, wine swirling in crystalline goblets as they debated the portents. To the west, the Lycan councils met under clouded moons, claws unsheathed, the old rivalries resurfacing beneath words meant to be diplomatic. Even among the witches, once the staunchest defenders of balance, debate became division, and division edged closer to disaster.What Elara left was not a throne. It was an ec